


Today

by FlirtyFroggy



Series: What You Want [4]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Fluffy Angst, M/M, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlirtyFroggy/pseuds/FlirtyFroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>This was why you should check the peephole first, he thought. Not in case of stalkers or paparazzi, but in case the person on the other side of the door is a rumpled, tired-looking, unbearably kissable David Ferrer and you’re covered in chocolate like a two year old.</i><br/> <br/>The aftermath of their Roland Garros 2013 Final.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Control](http://archiveofourown.org/works/808222) (not [In Another World](http://archiveofourown.org/works/810968), which is a stand alone, AU version of Control.)
> 
> A note on girlfriends: The first three parts of this series were short(ish) vignettes where the boys were focused entirely what was happening in the moment between the two of them. This is a longer piece with a bit more thinking going on so there needs to be some explanation of what is/isn't happening with their partners. In this world Rafa and Xisca have long since split but are still close friends. David and Marta are in an open relationship, which Rafa is aware of. Since this installment is from Rafa's POV rather than David's he doesn't really dwell on her much.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not meant to imply anything about any actual people or their lives. It's just for fun.

It was past midnight when Rafa finally let himself into his hotel suite and collapsed onto the sofa. He had left his family and Xisca and his team celebrating in the bar, telling them he was going to bed. He wasn’t remotely tired, but he had barely had chance to breathe, let alone think, since the moment he had collapsed to the ground in victory, and he found he wanted to be alone to wallow in a feeling he had feared he would never experience again. He grinned up at the ceiling and, in the absence of the trophy they had taken from him the moment the photos were done, hugged the nearest cushion. He’d done it. He’d really done it. A few months ago he’d wondered if he ever would again. Hell, a few _days_ ago he’d wondered if he ever would again. But he had. More than anyone else ever had. Eight times. Today, he had won Roland Garros eight times. He hugged the cushion harder and giggled to himself.

His phone beeped in his pocket for the hundredth time that night, reminding him he had a straining inbox requiring his attention. He scrolled through a ream of congratulatory texts, answering some and making a mental note to deal with the others in the morning. His sponsors really didn’t need to be subjected to his half-drunk rambling and spelling mistakes. He ignored the voicemails for now. There were too many. With a sigh, he threw his phone aside and lay there a while, drumming his fingers on his chest, a grin still splitting his face in two. One foot twitched from side to side.

Underlying the sheer joy of winning Roland Garros once more there was something else, something he was used to feeling before a match not after; a low-level thrum of anticipation and hope and fear. He and David hadn’t talked at all about what had happened after their previous two matches, David had been long gone from the locker room by the time Rafa got there, and this was very different from Rome or Madrid, for both of them. But Rafa couldn’t put the possibility out of his mind. There had been a look David had given him as he left the court that made him certain that even though they hadn’t talked about it, he wasn’t the only one who had been thinking about it. If David had still been in the locker room when Rafa got there, what would have happened? If he turned up at David’s hotel room now, what would happen? He wasn’t even a hundred percent certain where David was staying and he probably wouldn't be alone anyway. Rafa had no idea what David did after a loss. Given that he’d been the cause of so many of them, it had never felt right to ask. 

He could text him, find out if he was alone. What would he even say? _Hi, sorry you lost. Want to come over so we can fuck?_ Rafa snorted. He couldn’t do that. Could he? Would David come? He might. But Rafa didn’t really want him to. Not like that.

A knock at the door made him jump and he leapt up. That low-level thrum was no longer quite so low-level and Rafa could feel his heart racing as he walked towards the door. He pressed his eye to the peephole, and then burst out laughing at himself. He had forgotten about the room service he had ordered from the front desk as he passed through the lobby.

He opened the door and stood aside to let the man enter with his little trolley and was suddenly ravenous as the smell of steak reached his nostrils, his body reminding him forcefully that man couldn’t live on adrenaline and alcohol alone, he needed protein too. If the room service guy thought it was weird to be delivering steak and potatoes and chocolate cake to a giggling idiot at nearly one o’clock in the morning he gave no sign of it, merely smiling politely and accepting his tip with a gracious nod as he turned and left the room. He had probably seen far weirder things. Rafa settled back down on the sofa, spearing potatoes with one hand and flicking through the TV channels with the other. He stopped when he reached a sports channel replaying his match, which wasn’t necessarily what he had been looking for but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

The second knock at the door came just as Rafa was polishing off the last of the cake. “Fuck,” he muttered, dropping the cake so it smeared chocolate down his chin and landed on his shirt. He wiped his chin and dabbed at his shirt with a napkin as he strode towards the door. What the hell were room service doing back so soon? He opened the door without checking the peephole first, which he had been told a thousand times he really shouldn’t do and which he continued to do anyway, and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight which greeted him. This was why you should check the peephole first, he thought. Not in case of stalkers or paparazzi, but in case the person on the other side of the door is a rumpled, tired-looking, unbearably kissable David Ferrer and you’re covered in chocolate like a two year old.

“Hi,” David said with a distracting smile. “Sorry, I know it’s late. I’ve been out walking around. Ended up here.”

It took Rafa a second to find his voice. “Hi,” he said eventually. “I’m glad you did. End up here, I mean.” Mother of God, could he trip over his tongue any more? How did David do this to him? He was a grown man, not a bumbling teenager. “Come in. There’s no one else here.” It somehow sounded far more suggestive than he had intended it to. 

David didn’t appear to notice. “You have chocolate on your chin by the way,” he said, stepping past him and heading towards the living room. Rafa trailed after him, scrubbing at his face. He almost ran into the back of David, who had stopped in the doorway. Too late, Rafa remembered the TV. He ran to the sofa and scrambled for the remote as on-screen David ran to the net and screwed up a volley. Out if the corner of his eye he saw the real David wince when the ball collided with the net. Rafa flicked the TV off and turned back to David. “Sorry,” he said. 

“It’s fine,” David said with another smile. “Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind. If I won Roland Garros I’d probably watch it on a loop for the rest of my life.”

“You’ll get to do that one day,” Rafa said. He was quite convinced of this.

David snorted. “You planning on retiring any time soon?”

“Not planning on it, but you never know.” Rafa regretted it the moment the words were out of his mouth. He started to say that he hadn’t really meant that David couldn’t do it as long as he was still playing, but David waved away his apology. 

“It really is ok, Rafa. I mean it. I’m happy to have been in the final. I’m happy for you. I’ve certainly lost to far worse people.” David’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “There’s no shame in losing to the King of Clay.” Rafa groaned and threw himself down on the sofa, his hands over his face. David burst out laughing. “You’d think you’d be used to it by now.” 

“That’s just hype. Something for marketing people. It’s not real. It doesn’t mean anything when –” When you’re staring down one of the best returners in the game. When you know that he could beat you if he really believed it and maybe today would be the day. When there’s a wretched, traitorous part of you that wants it to happen. 

“When what?” Rafa took his hands away from his face and looked at David. His eyes still held their smile but it was starting to fade. David pushed Rafa’s feet off the sofa and sat in the space he had created, fiddling with his fingernails. His hair hid his eyes. Rafa waited.

“I’m sorry,” David said at last. What the hell? Rafa’s mind raced. He thought back to Madrid, where all the different ways David frustrated him had bubbled over. He had said things he winced to remember afterwards and started this thing he didn’t know how to stop. He had told David to beat him next time. They had now played twice since then and David hadn’t done it. 

“David, today was – I mean – there’s no need…” Rafa floundered, not really knowing what he was trying to say, let alone how to say it.

“I don’t mean about the match, you idiot. I mean, about everything. About us.” Rafa drew in a sharp breath and hoped it didn’t sound as loud to David as it did in his own ears.

“I don’t understand. Us? Why do you need to apologise for that?” If either of them had to apologise on that score he was pretty sure it was him.

“I don’t know. I just know things aren’t the way I’d want them to be. Between us. And I’m sorry for that.” David turned to look at him then. Rafa could see his eyes now but he was none the wiser as to what he was thinking. David’s face could be very expressive if he wanted it to be, and an absolute brick wall if he didn’t. Rafa had spent years trying to figure him out without making much headway. The direct approach was the only solution. He took a deep breath.

“How do you want things to be between us?” He thought about asking about Marta but decided against it. David was here and not there, and whatever arrangement he had with her was their business.

David shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. We never talked after Madrid, after Rome.” Rome. David on his knees, his mouth around Rafa’s cock. A sure smile and strong hands. Rafa reached out and cupped David’s face with one hand, running his thumb along David’s bottom lip. David’s lips parted and his tongue flicked out to lick the pad of Rafa’s thumb. Rafa brought his other hand up to pull David towards him and David jerked his head away. “Don’t,” he said and Rafa instantly let his hands drop. “You make it impossible for me to think.”

“You think too much, Ferru.”

“Well, one of us has to,” David snapped. Rafa couldn’t really argue with that. David pulled back just a little. Just far enough to be out of reach of Rafa’s hands. “When you kissed me, the first time, I didn’t…” David stopped and bit his lip. “I hadn’t even known that I wanted that until then. Maybe not even then. Maybe it was afterwards. I don’t know.” He started worrying his lip again, letting it slide between his teeth and Rafa watched in fascination as all the colour drained out of it and then flooded back in. “I don’t know what you want, Rafa. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t know either. I know I don’t regret anything we’ve done, I know I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t know what I do want.”

David looked at him for what seemed like a very long time and Rafa began to worry that he had blown the whole thing. Whatever answers David had been looking for in his face he apparently found them because he smiled, leaned in and very gently pressed his lips to Rafa’s. “Maybe we can figure it out,” he whispered.

Rafa closed his eyes as David licked into his mouth, and he sank into the kiss. This was so different to anything they had done before. This wasn’t happening because he had taken David by surprise or because they were both hyped up on adrenaline and needed an outlet. This was happening because they wanted it to, because David wanted it to. David deepened the kiss, increasing the pressure, and Rafa couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him. He felt absurdly lightheaded. He had never been particularly religious but he thought that if there was a heaven it might well involve David’s tongue in his mouth and David’s hands gripping the back of his neck and David’s breath hitching as Rafa sucked gently on his lower lip.

David pulled back, just a little. Rafa could feel his breath on his skin. He was smiling in a way Rafa would definitely call smirking on anyone else. “How about that? Any of this helping?”

“It’s a start,” Rafa said, pulling David’s mouth back to his. David didn’t reply, unless biting Rafa’s lip and pushing him onto his back counted as a reply. David’s hands soon found their way under Rafa’s shirt, his calloused palms deliciously rough against his skin. Rafa’s hands reached down to cup David’s under-rated arse and he couldn’t resist pulling him hard against him. They both groaned at the pressure and Rafa bucked his hips for good measure.

“Slow down,” David said between kisses. “There’s no rush.” Rafa ran his hands up David’s back, sank them into his hair and tugged gently, enjoying the way it made David’s head tip back and his breath stutter. He kept his hips still. “Toni,” David said, and Rafa pulled his head back and stared at him. David laughed. “I didn’t mean – if he walks in and catches us…” David had a point. It really didn’t bear thinking about. Much as he was loath to move with David on top of him looking mussed and gorgeous, they really couldn’t stay on this sofa. “I believe you said something about a bed?” David said. Rafa frowned. When had he..? Oh. Rome. Of course. 

David stood up and pulled Rafa up after him. They stood grinning at each other like loons, then David took his hand. “Bedroom?” he asked and Rafa nodded over his shoulder towards the door. David leaned up and kissed him, gentle again, though his grip on Rafa’s hand was tight. Then he turned and pulled him towards the bedroom. On a table by the wall there was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign intended for the door to the suite and Rafa snagged it as they went past and hung it on the handle of his bedroom door. David laughed. “Will they pay any attention to that?”

“Sure,” Rafa shrugged. “Probably. They’ll think I’m sleeping. Or wanking,” he added as an afterthought. David laughed again. 

The door had hardly closed before Rafa found himself pinned up against it. For all that Rafa towered over him David had no problem holding him in place, not that Rafa had any intention of trying to stop him. Not when he was doing that to his ear.

David still had hold of his hand. He stepped away from Rafa and began to walk backwards to the bed, pulling Rafa with him. If Rafa hadn’t been hard already he was pretty sure the look in David’s eyes would have done it all by itself. And there was that smile again. That gentle, knowing smile that promised so much. Rafa wanted to kiss it away, turn it into a gasp, a moan. So he did.

They fell to the bed together, lips bumping clumsily, hands fumbling with clothing. David ended up losing several buttons from his shirt and Rafa thought he might have lost a couple too but really didn’t care. Who gave a fuck about buttons when David Ferrer was undoing your fly? When they were both down to their underwear David rolled onto his back, pulling Rafa on top of him. David grinned up at him, eyes lit up, like being all but naked in Rafa’s bed was the most fun he could imagine. Rafa grinned back then started to laugh, joy welling up in him again. He’d won Roland Garros, and David was here with him, and he was pretty sure something amazing was about to happen. He buried his head in the crook of David’s neck and heard David chuckling in his ear. “You’d better be laughing with me not at me,” David said. Rafa nodded.

“Sorry,” he said at last, raising his head. “I had a good day.”

David’s eyes were still shining. “Mine wasn’t so great.” He reached up and pushed Rafa’s hair back from his face, ran a finger down his cheek. “But it’s getting better.” Rafa lowered his head and kissed him until they were both gasping for breath. He could feel David’s hard length pressed against him, his own erection pressing into David’s hip. The urge to grind down into him was almost overwhelming, but Rafa fought it with all his years of mental training. They had all the time in the world tonight and he was determined they were going to take it. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at David. 

“What do you want? Anything you want.” 

David’s gaze was steady. “I want you to suck my cock.” Rafa groaned and dropped his head forward to lean against David’s chest. He closed his eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard David say something like that, but it was usually in the context of a PlayStation tournament, usually directed at Feli, and usually accompanied by several rude hand gestures. Said here, now, with David’s calm intensity, it was the most erotic thing Rafa had ever heard. “Rafael,” David said softly, and canted his hips upwards. Rafa gasped. 

“Don’t,” he said, and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “Please, Ferru. Unless you want me to come right now.”

“Tempting. But no.” He took Rafa’s face in both his hands and lifted his head up. “Look at me.” Rafa opened his eyes. “Are you okay?” Rafa almost laughed again. How very, very David.

“Okay really doesn’t cover it. I’m more than okay. I’m going to suck you off now, until you’re writhing and moaning and begging me to let you come.” He was rather proud of the way he managed to say it quite casually with only a small tremor in his voice, and even more proud of the way David’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted and his breath quickened. 

Rafa kissed his way slowly down David’s neck, bit gently at his shoulder and licked his way along his arm. He sucked David’s fingers into his mouth one at a time, his eyes on David’s face, holding his gaze. “You’re going to do this to every bit of me before you even touch my cock aren’t you?” David said in a choked voice. It didn’t really sound like a complaint.

“Yes,” Rafa said around his thumb. David closed his eyes and fisted his other hand in the sheet.

By the time Rafa was easing off David’s underwear David was swearing at him, steadily and creatively. Rafa had never realised just what a filthy mouth he had. It was really quite fantastic. He lay between David’s thighs, his mouth centimetres from David’s swollen, leaking cock. One of David’s hands cradled the back of his head. “For fuck’s sake, Rafa.”

“Patience is a virtue, David.”

“Who told you I was fucking virtuous?” Rafa huffed a laugh, his breath gusting across David’s heated skin. David moaned and swore again. By now Rafa was painfully hard and he pressed his hips down into the mattress. He desperately didn’t want to come humping the mattress like some horny teenager but that could well happen the way things were going. Deciding David’s stream of abuse was close enough to begging as made no odds he grasped David’s cock and took him in his mouth as far as he could go. The strangled moan from above him and David’s hand tightening convulsively in his hair were well worth the wait. David bucked up into his mouth and Rafa made only a half-hearted attempt to stop him. Oh, this was what he had wanted. This was what he had wanted when he had David up against the lockers, and when he had laid on the sofa deliberating over his phone, and when David had pinned him to a bench in Rome and got down on his knees. Well, maybe not then.

“Rafa. I – God, Rafa .” David’s incoherence was almost as gratifying as the way his back arched and his hips juddered as he came. Salty bitterness filled Rafa’s mouth. He swallowed it down and wasted no time in pulling himself up David’s body to stretch out next to him. Some distant part of Rafa’s mind noted David’s heaving chest and flushed cheeks and stored the image for later, but he could think of nothing but his desperate need to come. He hooked a leg over David’s thigh and pressed up against him.

“Please,” he choked out. “David, please.” David turned his head towards him and opened his eyes.

“Patience is a virtue, Rafael,” David whispered with a smile. Rafa growled. David kissed him softly and an instant later Rafa’s mind went blank as David worked his hand between their bodies and grasped his cock. David’s forehead was pressed against his as they panted into each other’s mouths and Rafa thrust into David’s tight, slick grip. Then lights exploded behind Rafa’s eyelids and his body was arching against David’s, his cry swallowed up in David’s kiss. 

Strong arms wrapped around him as he sagged against David. Rafa felt laughter bubbling up in him again, escaping in quiet huffs as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. David pressed a kiss to his temple and Rafa could feel him shaking his head as he did so. “What’s funny now?”

“Nothing,” Rafa gasped, burying his face in the crook of David’s neck once more. “I – nothing. I don’t know.” He needed to laugh or cry or scream or _something_. He was trembling. David’s arms disappeared from around him and he pressed his face harder against David’s skin.

“Rafa,” David said, sounding worried. He turned onto his side and put a hand under Rafa’s chin, easing his head up. His face was full of concern and Rafa could have kicked himself for spoiling things now. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Rafa said. “Nothing’s wrong at all. It’s just… a release.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tried to find the words he needed amongst his scattered thoughts. “I didn’t think today would happen, that’s all.” He opened his eyes again to find David looking at him quizzically, his mouth open as though about to speak. “David Ferrer, I swear if you ask me if I mean Roland Garros I’m going to punch you.” David closed his mouth again but continued watching him, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Okay, a lot of it is Roland Garros,” Rafa admitted. David laughed and shook his head at him again. “But quite a bit of it is you too. Idiot. There’s no-one I’d rather have shared today with. All of today,” Rafa said, surprising himself. 

“Well. Alright, then,” David said, maddeningly cryptic as ever. He leaned forward and kissed him, threading a hand through his hair. Rafa gave himself up to the kiss and forgot about questioning and wondering in the heat of David’s mouth and the weight of David’s body pressing him into the mattress.


End file.
